


Drunk Tank

by htebazytook



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, Episode Related, First Time, Humor, M/M, Series 3, Slash, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extended scene of John and Sherlock's stay in the drunk tank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Tank

**Title:** Drunk Tank  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** none  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** John/Sherlock, (mentions of John/Sherlock/Mary)  
 **Time Frame:** series 3, during 3.2 The Sign of Three  
 **Summary:** Extended scene of John and Sherlock's stay in the drunk tank.

 

"Whasa meaning of this?" Sherlock shouts at the door of the prison cell shutting behind them. "I'm a famous person." He jerks a thumb in John's direction. "He's a soldier and don't you forgetaboutit."

John nods, and his head is so heavy that it causes him to slide down the big wall to the small small floor. "Sherluck. Lock. Sit down, there's too many of you."

Sherlock trips over John's outstretched legs but lands neatly on the cement block of a bed with a halfhearted bit of padding in the corner. "John," he whines, muffled by the dubious coverlet. He looks like a bat trying to use a thimble for a nest. John didn't know if bats had nests, though . . . "Cap'n John Wassisname of the Northy-thing, you gotta get us outta here. Mm, p . . . prior inhabitants . . . a clergyman, a woman from Aldershot, a fifty-something with severe anxiety . . . all of them vomited in the vicinity of . . . this vicinity." He wrinkles his nose.

John tries and fails to get more comfortable on the floor – the best he can manage is to prop himself against the blocky bed, but that's not very soft and neither is Sherlock's knobbly knee. Sherlock's sorta sitting now, and John's not sure when or how that had happened. "Do I look like a bloody burglar to you?"

"Yes," Sherlock murmurs.

"What?"

"You look like a burglar."

"Well I'm not. I don't think . . ."

"Oh, what _ever_ , you're my burglar though, sometimes, what with the, the . . ."

"Enterin breakering?"

" 'Zactly." Sherlock pats John on the head so forcefully it knocks John horizontal on the floor.

John recovers with aplomb, only getting a little bit of prison floor dust bunnies in his hair probably. Luckily that knobbly knee from earlier makes a halfway decent stair bannister.

John look as at his hand on Sherlock's knee, looks at fuzzy Sherlock. John chuckles, "You thought I was, was gonna, before."

"Hm?"

"Thought I was gonna sex with you." John puts his hand on Sherlock's crotch in case he's not following. "With my mouth."

"Noooo no no. _You_ thought about it."

"Course I did. 'S what you tend to think about if you're kneeling in front of a bloke with a hard on."

Sherlock scoffs. "I wasn't sexually arousaled."

John shrugs. " _I_ was . . . "

"Though in fairness I - " Sherlock pauses to examine the hand he'd been gesturing uselessly with, lets it drops to his side and sighs. "Well I am now, certainly."

"Yeah I know," John says, kneading Sherlock's cock through his trousers 'cause it seems a bit rude not to, at this point.

"It's not to bad," Sherlock says magnanimously. "Not too unusual, shouldn't think. Some of 'em jump offa cliffs in Noraway or somewhere . . . "

John hasn't a fucking clue what Sherlock is talking about, is fascinated by the feeling of him lengthening under John's palm. "What's your point?"

"The point I'm trying to make," Sherlock says, "is the dolphins. That's my point. Sex for fun, it's all fine. Mammals in a fish-suit."

John doesn't give a shit, very busy thinking about how: "You _are_ hard." He unzips Sherlock's trousers to make absolutely certain, terribly vital information, this . . .

Sherlock's head swings heavily to look down at John, blinking his way through what John can still recognize as Sherlock scanning him, deducing-seducing and fuck him anyway for having eyes like that and that mouth like that.

"You want to, now," Sherlock slurs. "You really do _want_ to, too. Too. What a strange sorta thing . . ."

John watches a hand that looks like his own grab a hold of the erection straining through Sherlock's underwear. It's expensive underwear. "I want some-a this . . . "

"You sound like . . . porn. I _have_ watched it before, God's sakes!" Sherlock adds defensively. "John? John."

John pulls Sherlock's underwear out of the way, tracing up his cock absently. "D'you know what . . . I want you." John frowns at the visceral urgency with which he realizes it. "So _bad_ . . . "

Sherlock shakes his head. “Badly." 

"Yeah well, maybe I _do_ want you bad, eh? Ever think of that, Mr Clever?" 

Sherlock snorts. "Please. You don't want me, you want sex."

John wants him to shut up. "Want _you_ . . . " Sherlock's cock is hot and hard so John licks up the shaft experimentally, then sucks it into his mouth halfway because Sherlock's just made the best sound he's ever made.

The way it turns John on is unusual. Every motion seeming to echo in himself, like taking Sherlock's cock down until it hits the back of John's throat is the same as Sherlock doing it to John and oh my God oh _Jesus Christ_ \- Sherlock doing _that_? John sucks harder as he thinks about it and moans.

It's gone so quiet now, just John breathing through his nose and Sherlock breathing fast, emitting sweetly sexy mewling sounds whenever John speeds up. If John can just make Sherlock come right now Sherlock will think of John whenever he thinks of sex from now on, and if John swallows his cock like this it means John can contain all of Sherlock's complex mind and messy perilous emotions, keep Sherlock here in this cell, alive, in London, under John's watch.

"Feels really odd," Sherlock is saying. "Good odd, good wet and . . . and tongue. _Oh_ . . . " John hears the thump of Sherlock's head falling back against the wall. He flicks his tongue along the underside of Sherlock's cock. " _John_ . . . "

"Mmmm."

"John, wait . . . _wait_." Sherlock latches onto John's shirt to push him back, loses his grip and flails a little. He looks debauched and fantastic, fly open and cock out and face flushed and lost. "You're not s'posed to do this. Dunno why, something stupid unadoubtly. _I_ can though, some reason . . . "

" 'S'okay, Sherlock," John says, not caring what he's talking about because his taste is still on John's tongue and John still hasn't made him come yet.

"I can just, I can have an orgasm any old time really . . . "

"Okay but – hey, where're you going?"

Sherlock lifts his legs onto the cot, curls up in a fetal position and stubbornly faces the wall.

John stands, almost entirely not stumbling. He shakes Sherlock by the shoulder until Sherlock turns around and stares directly at John. Well, at his by now straining erection.

"Hey," Sherlock says, fumbling with John's fly, apparently having forgotten his protests. "Hey, make this work."

Between them they manage to make it work. When Sherlock strokes one long curious finger up John's length the pleasure shoots through John's nervous system white hot because _Sherlock_ . . . 

"Huh." Sherlock narrows his eyes at John's cock like it's hiding a secret before he tilts his chin and takes it softly into his mouth. The air vibrates even more than it had been, time stretching out bizarrely just so John can drink in Sherlock's eyes on him and tongue on him, the contented noises he makes as he sucks.

Sherlock's mouth is so good, sloppy and not terribly coordinated and _good_ . . . John braces himself against the wall of the cell to ward off a dizzy spell, head hanging down and watching his cock disappear past Sherlock's slippery lips. Sherlock gaze is far from his usual inquiring stare, sharply blue eyes gone all careless and half-lidded, now.

Sherlock's touching himself, disjointed pulls on his needy cock that he seems mostly unaware of. John will fix that – he replaces Sherlock's hand with his own and strokes him steadily. Sherlock's eyes close and he lifts his hips up weakly for more, keeps sucking John and making such loud lewd slurping sounds.

And then Sherlock ruins John forever by opening his eyes on a moan and coming between John's fingers. John means to pull out of Sherlock's mouth but his orgasm hits him so so fast – Sherlock chokes, surprised, and come starts dribbling out of his mouth but Sherlock licks his lips to gather it up and swallows and sighs.

John does Sherlock's trousers up for him because Sherlock is entirely unconcerned about it. He tidies himself as well, resigned to the sticky residue coating his hand even after wiping it on his trouser leg and the discomfort of the floor as he sits there again.

"John," Sherlock grumbles.

"Hm? Whasit?"

"Mary . . . "

John knows he shouldn't giggle, but one escapes anyway. "Putit this way, Sherlock, she won't exactly be surmised. Surprised."

Sherlock doesn’t laugh. When did he start caring so much about this sort of thing, anyway?

"I _mean_ that she'spected it. She said, _You can have all manner of fun at your bachelor party including the naughty kind, long as you tell me the details later_. Let you in on a secret little, Sherlock - she thinks you're a studmuffin or whatever."

"Bachelor." Sherlock frowns. "Tha's wrong . . . "

"There's a many good things that're wrong in thisscenario."

"But I'm the best man!" Sherlock declares. 

John giggles. "My best man, not _the_ best man, you're not a garroter . . . well, not that I know of, so . . . "

"I'm 'sposed to . . . I dunno what I'm 'sposed to, but brides don't usually like it when their husbands get blowjobs from sociopaths."

John's surprised Sherlock even realizes that. "So you'll just have to do it when Mary's there too, next time. I told you, she thinks - "

"I'm a sexy beast, yeah, yeah I know . . . "

John giggles again. ''Listena me though, listen – you're a good friend, caring about the thing. I always knew you . . . Sherlock. Sherlock?"

He's asleep now, mouth open and snoring quietly.

John pats the arm that's dangling off the blocky bed, already beginning to doze himself. "Nighty night, best man."

*


End file.
